Beautiful Gore

It's amazing how things change like the flip of a switch.
That smooth endless road into the horizon out of reach,
that inspirational dream shattered at the hitch,
and nothing is consoling not even what a priest may preach.

Now looking back it's a wonder as to what went wrong.
Was it something I did - Or something I said?
Everything that had been worked towards is gone,
some fairytale ending in a book previously read.

My heart hammers against my ribs,
a constantly beating drum at the start of war.
So tired of all the lies and fibs,
leaving behind nothing but beautifully splattered gore.

Angry Pride

Crimson fills my vision,
Blocking everything from my sight
Not allowing me to open my eyes.
I grew weary with each rise of the moon,
Always testing my patience,
The limits to which you can push
So effectively wearing me thin.
My fists clench tightly,
Knuckles turning white from lack of circulation.
My lower lip trembles
Trying to keep the droplets of water at bay
And not cascading in rivulets along
My prominent cheekbones and dripping from my chin.
I remain biting on my tongue
In vague attempts to stop myself from
Screaming and shouting profanities
And damning you to hell,
Where you can flounce about,
Dancing, weaving through the flames
Licking at your skin and burning the flesh,
Incinerating the cells to burnt crisps.
Join demons in the Underworld,
Obeying commands like mindless minions
Following the leader in single file off
A cliff accompanied by sharp rocks
Protruding from the side, bitter and dangerous
Like the words I hold on my tongue,
Struggling to keep the iron gates closed.
You comply without question,
Never doubting the web of lies she spins,
Increasing enormously until the fragile
Tendrils stretch from one side to the other.

Stop and Breathe

It feels as though I am constantly running,

Racing through obstacles life throws at me

Without the chance to stop - - and breathe.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another

And despite how hard I push or shove –

Life does not stop for me.

People around me keep trucking forward

Just as the Earth continues to spin on its axis,

No break to relax or recuperate.

When I am frozen in fear and have no clue

Where I am going in life or what path I am

Following, I simply stop - - and think.

Where would I be right now if it was not

For all the hardships I’ve persevered through

Or faced diving head first into the storm?

Would life still hold the same meaning

As it does now, if I had collapsed underneath

The pressure from volatile words directed at me?

Who will be prominent in my life,

Someone that I see every single day

And breathes the same air that I do?

What could have been? – I ask myself

As I stare at the mirror without even

Noticing – the saddened girl looking back.

How did things turn out this way,

Surrounded by misconstrued lies

And people who stomp all over me?

Why is it that when you give an inch,

They take a mile and run with it

Giving no moment - - of reprieve?

Questions follow me, no they stalk me

Like shadows entwined to my body

Even in the darkest hours, haunting.

I look around me and still I find it hard

To make sense of anything that is happening

And am constantly confused - - without fail.

I remain frozen, but not with fear,

Rather I remain frozen to take in my surroundings

And learn from other’s mistakes.

So while life continues to pass me by,

Leaving me to my own devices I take a moment

To stop, to think, to learn - - to breathe.

And from that one moment in time

Where I am breathing evenly and my head

Is clear, I think that finally there is hope.

That in this fast-paced life I am living,

That in my moments of doubt and trepidation,

All I need to find hope is stop - - and breathe.

I. Am. Me.

I am me.

I may not know who that is, or like who it is right now,

but regardless I am me.

Behind every action is emotion,

Behind every emotion is reason,

Behind every reason is just cause.

I will not change the person I am

nor will I change for someone other than myself.

I am an artist,

discovering new methods of appreciation.

I am a writer,

raising awareness to social issues.

I am a poet,

passionately screaming out for help -

For someone to show me who I am supposed to be.

At this point in my life

I am still searching for my identity.

That is not to say I wish to be classified by labels,

or by close-minded fools,

but rather find the body and soul I am comfortable in.

That person that can make me happy just by being alive.

I may not like who I am, but I can say I am proud;

that I am proud of certain aspects that I have:

I am strong.

I am determined.

I am passionate.

I am honest.

But it is to be remembered that:

I am human.

I am emotional.

I am hurt.

I am vulnerable.

Those facts - - those facts that we ALL share,

Should not be taken advantage of

no matter what situation arises.

I may not like who I am, or even know who that is,

but I am proud to say, that I -

I am me.

Blindsided

It took mere seconds to relapse into a comatose state; lying unconsciously on a plain white bed with minimal sheets and walls of bleak stones. There were no windows, no sun shining through the bars and shedding warmth into the frigid room.  Nothing about the area screamed comfort, a place of safety and recognition.  A musky smell wafted into the room through the crude wooden door, seeping through the large cracks caused by the previous inhabitant. Water ran down the stone walls creating mud pits on the floor. The place was rightfully entitled ‘Prison’ and seemed to embody every aspect of the word.

Stale sheets, soaked with urine, sweat and blood crunched under the girl as she shifted in her sleep. The time that had passed was unrecognizable due to the lack of ability to see the position of the sun. It could have been hours, days, or even weeks before she would open her eyes once again. Her skin used to have a healthy, sun-kissed glow. Now it was pale white and blotchy from malnutrition, large bruises covering her limbs. Hair that was once as vibrant as the red of a rose was now matted with dirt and grime, forever entangled in dreadlocks. Her nails were chewed up and stained with blood from constantly scratching at the door or wall, trying with no success to escape her dreaded fate.

The days grew longer and longer as time passed. Nothing seemed to bring comfort to her no matter how hard she tried. It had not mattered much anyway. She was in and out of consciousness so much that comfort was not necessary. It was a rarity that she was awake. By the end of the time, she was not eating any food or drinking water. She would not smile or grimace, hell - she barely acknowledged pain from the knives piercing her or the hot irons branding her skin. Her eyes were void of all emotion having gone a milky blue due to vision lost. Her face was beyond recognition and one would use daunting as a way to describe it, but that word did not justify the horror of decay. She was essentially a walking corpse…had she been alive.

It started about a year ago, the girl living with her mother and two older brothers. She was a golden girl; she had perfect grades and was the president of multiple clubs at her school. She was a teacher’s aide and helped other students in her classes and even offered to remain after school for extra tutoring. There was nothing that any person could pick out as a flaw. Deandrah Jay Milton was the girl every other girl wanted to be and the girl every boy wanted to be with.

The day was setting into twilight and the colors in the sky mixed together creating a masterpiece of abstract art. Deandrah was walking along the streets towards her home not but fifteen minutes from the school. She had earphones in her ears and music playing from her mp3 player, her mind lost to the lyrics, eyes closed in content. As she reached the corner to turn onto her street, a pair of hands unexpectedly wrapped around her petite body. One hand moved to cover her mouth before she could scream while the other remained around her waist, tugging harshly towards a car stopped on the road.

Her screams were muffled, the noise catching in her throat and rubbing her vocal chords raw. The person was unrelenting in pulling her to the car and shoving her into the trunk. With tears in her eyes she screamed only to have it be cut off by the trunk lid slamming shut effectively locking her in the small confinement. Deandrah’s hands were trembling as her body shook with fear. Who were these people? What did they want?

Deandrah banged against the lid while screaming. She knew they were moving from her body shifting in the trunk or being thrown in the air from hitting pot holes. After about half an hour she gave up; she lost hope that someone would hear screaming from the trunk of the car and do something about it. At that point she let the tears fall freely. What little pride she held onto after being thrown into the trunk was gone. She did not care if the kidnappers saw her crying. Perhaps, then maybe they would see that she was human and had emotions as well. Maybe they would realize that it was a mistake and take her home.

It was a fruitless dream.

Fake Invisibility

Compared to her I am nothing,

Simply a girl that gets looked by,

And never given a second glance,

Or a small, meek ‘hi.’

Ordinary features and dull eyes,

No outstanding feature to show,

Nor do I resemble someone famous,

Or anyone you may know.

I am just another girl,

Who walks alone on the street,

Baggy clothing hanging off my limbs,

And a hoodie despite the heat.

To everyone else I am invisible,

A spectral being to walk through,

A cold breeze past you,

And everyone you knew.

In society’s eyes,

I am the outcast,

The one no one likes,

Wondering how long this will last.

Even as I stare in the mirror,

I see no one,

No reflection looking back at me,

No one to rudely shun.

I question the sanity,

Of people in this life,

Who so blindly throw words around,

Sharp and dangerous as a knife.

Sometimes I wonder,

What exactly it will take,

In order to change their minds,

Without having to be fake.